


Sic Semper Tyrannis

by FLJC19



Category: Emberverse - S. M. Stirling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:14:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25540402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FLJC19/pseuds/FLJC19
Summary: This idea just hit me one day and I just had to write it. Made a couple of maps to go along with this story. I've been a fan of the Emberverse books for a while, obviously, since I'm posting here. That said, it always miffs me how the entire East Coast is nothing but dead zones, cannibals and savages excluding Norrheim. It all just felt so empty to me, and I didn't like how France, Germany, and most of Spain got written off as wiped out.  So here's a fic where none of those things apply.  A couple of characters are based off real life people, but didn't mention them by name.Any comments, critiques, and feedback are more than welcome!Might do more stories set in this AU in the future.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	Sic Semper Tyrannis

**SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS**

A Story of the Change

Governor’s Mansion/New White House

Richmond, Virginia

Capital, Commonwealth of Virginia (Formerly State of Virginia)

July 15, Change Year 24, 2022 AD

President Charles McKnight mopped a bead of sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief, taking a sip of water. _Damn this summer heat_ , he thought, not for the first time missing good old-fashioned air conditioning. This had always been his chief complaint about living in this part of the South, even before the Change. It was equally difficult to deal with paperwork having to resort to old fashioned pen and quill for quite a while, pens and pencils were still a rarity these days, but that was slowly beginning to change, and keep a drop of sweat from ruining the whole damned sheet was a pain in the ass.

Between his pre-Change style black suit and red tie, his short-cropped brown hair that was slowly going grey, a holdover from his army days, a new, close cropped goatee and mild-mannered appearance, looking at him now, most people would never suspect that this 5’7’’ 51-year-old politician was a former soldier, and a good one. But those days were long since over, the scars on his face and old wounds still ached in cold weather. He got up and walked to his office window. Outside, the hustle and bustle of the post-Change Richmond, in the shadow of the ruined skyscrapers went on as it had for years now. The new, smaller, rebuilt city greatly resembled that of the Civil War era, low, squat brick and wood buildings. Horse drawn carts, bicycles, and bicycle pulled carts plowed the once again cobbled streets, vendors hawking wares and to the eye’s mind, seemingly more crowded than it had been before the world had ended.

Charles felt weary, feeling his age more so every year. _Who knew holding some form of civilization together and reorganizing much of Eastern North America from the ground up for the last 24 years would be stressful?_ He chuckled bitterly to himself _. Thank God for term limits_ , he thought. He had signed that bill into law after it had passed by 6 votes during a session of the Legislature three years back, and after the elections this year, this would be the end of his final term of office. Truthfully, Charles thought whichever poor bastard or bitch of the four candidates running that won was welcome to this office, and he could retire to live out a quiet life as a private citizen, out on a plot of land somewhere with his family, content in the knowledge his job done.

Thinking back, he had never expected to find himself in a position of high office, much less founder of a country. When the Change had hit, he’d been a 27-year-old Captain stationed at Fort A.P. Hill. The memory of the die-off and general apocalyptic mess that had ensued made him shudder and his throat seize up. He’d been lucky, his parents, sister, and new wife had been on base when it happened. He pitied his fellow soldiers who hadn’t. Some, over the objections of their compatriots, had insisted on going out to search for them. None had ever returned. By the end of that first year, between those who hadn’t been on base when the Change hit, action against roving gangs, disease, and in one case mad with power, the higher ups were gone.

He’d seen a lot of petty tyrannies growing like weeds, and so far as Charles knew he’d had only one chance to even begin to preserve something of the old. With the lack of any higher command, Charles declared himself, with the support of much of the surviving grunts and civvies, the interim governor of Virginia. It had taken considerable doing, but he’d won people over bit by bit. Early on in CY 2, he’d held an impromptu election between himself and three other candidates who had differing views on how to handle things, he’d won by a landslide.

This had been deliberate. _I couldn’t let people get too used to the idea of one man rule, needed to keep some semblance of democracy alive_. Then, he’d proclaimed the new Commonwealth of Virginia. Within a few months, they’d been quick to march on and secure what remained of Richmond, there were still enough people alive, scattered and confused, that he’d been able to get on his side quickly, folks just grateful for some stability and central authority once again. He racked his prematurely aging brains for numbers, math never having been his strongest suit, and remembered the briefing he’d gotten from the Cabinet at the beginning of the year. Richmond was now home to 32,000 people, and; nearly 1 and a half million in the Commonwealth overall, primarily concentrated on the coasts or farmland.

Charles had never considered a political career before the Change, he’d seen what it did to his grandad, and now… _People are calling me the next George fuckin’ Washington_. He was rather uncomfortable with the borderline hero worship in some corners, and felt his detractors raised some good points about himself. The Historical Society and Art Museum had taken considerable damage, but much had been able to be salvaged, and Virginia in general had been far better about keeping historical records and memories of the old world alive than most places had, thanks partly to luck.Richmond hadn’t been quite as much of a horror story as bigger cities to the north like Baltimore, and Washington D.C., but saying it hadn’t been quite as bad was like saying Mt. Saint Helens was better than Krakatoa. In a lot of ways they’d gotten lucky. A lot of the refugees from Norfolk had taken to sea or gone south, Baltimore and D.C. they’d headed north. Most of the two hundred thousand population were still dead or fled by the time he’d moved in.

The Eastern Shore had taken a shellacking too, with refugees streaming in from Delaware and parts of Maryland, but enough of the rural communities had managed to pull through relatively well. He’d sent people out all over the states of Virginia, North Carolina and Maryland to any surviving communities to try to get them onboard with the new Commonwealth, and Charles, along with his surviving brass and few remaining politicians, had known they’d needed to act as quickly as possible before they got used to their own independence, to keep bloodshed to a minimum. A lot of times, they’d run into people just grateful for some stabilizing central authority again, and they’d joined up without much fuss. There had been some real professional bad guys though, former criminals, other low-lives, or just someone who’d gone bug fuck nuts and decided this was their chance to be king or queen. Of what, ruins and shell-shocked, starving refugees? In their minds, they were living the good life, and here the Commonwealth was to take it all away. Mostly, he’d saved the use of force for those cases, the real evil bastards. More than once, they’d run up against slavers or in one case honest to God Neo-Nazis. Charles smiled to himself. It had been a pleasure taking them down.

There had been a few decently run micro-states run by relatively sane and sensible people, who had simply wanted to be left alone to govern their own affairs. Charles felt his gut twist in guilt, then reassured himself that any killing had been kept to a minimum, combatants only. Offenders who violated the rules of war had been dealt with accordingly. It had taken some time for the residual grudges to simmer down and some still hadn’t, he recalled. He wasn’t entirely happy about the semi-imperialistic direction his new country had taken, hell, he’d done some nasty things himself. Charles sighed and grimaced, his eyes screwed shut. _You did only what was necessary_ , he thought to himself, but wasn’t entirely sure how much he believed that.

But all things considered, look what had come out of it. A mostly; excluding the occasional bandit gang, and roving Eaters coming out of the still abandoned cities, but those were dwindling every year, stable state. That didn’t mean things were perfect, far from it, but at least they’d managed to avoid the neo-feudalism plaguing so much of North America. And he’d been surprised to hear of other individuals like-minded to him who had gone the same way. Virginia was now one of several new countries east of the Mississippi, and one of a handful of functioning democratic states, not to mention just about the only legitimate republic. Of course, you had Mobile in Alabama, which was the Gulf equivalent of Corvallis these days, albeit with a more conventional government led by the Mayor and slightly more conservative, and a state down in the Florida Keys and southern coast, but that was the Conch Republic now. _Only in Florida_ , the old saying went.

The thought made Charles chuckle to himself. Both were doing booming trade business from the Caribbean and Latin America. Not to mention providing Virginia with competitors in addition to neighbors. There was also Acadiana, which controlled most of Louisiana, but was somewhat more decentralized to geography reasons. That was more of an oligarchy, but at least local government positions were universally elected. He gazed at the map of the Eastern US on his wall, with various colors for the new states and wild lands colored in grey. A lot of the interior, especially the Appalachians were still largely uninhabited, or if they were, by loose townships and villages that had pulled through. Expanding into the mountains was proving to be quite the pain in the ass, but still chugging along. Helping matters was the slow but steady rebuilding of the railroads. There were quite a few blue dots and blobs indicating Virginia’s fortified settlements, or ‘seed colonies.’ They were scattered throughout what used to be West Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Ohio, Pennsylvania and northern parts of Mississippi and Alabama. Somewhere between 10 to 15 thousand people all told.

The idea was to create them to lay the foundations for settlement and claim the land before anyone else did. And it was working, generally, albeit it would be decades, if not more before it gained substantial settlement. _Good Christ, it’s basically the Old West all over again._ The Army and Navy put up quite a few forts along their side of Mississippi River to deter Iowa or Kirksville from making any forays, populated mostly by soldiers and their families, with a sizable River Patrol now, but Heasleroad and Hickock seemed content to keep on their side, as there was still a lot of arable untilled land in Missouri and Iowa. That was a recurring thing everywhere, good land and not enough hands to till it. For now, that was good, because if Iowa or their client states wanted to come over and crush those settlements into the dust, they could do easily. Charles figured his people didn’t have the numbers out that far to beat them in a fight, or even a close-run defeat. Richland, based on figures he’d heard during his last visit, had people settling the rest of Wisconsin plus the Michigan Upper Peninsula and potentially northern Illinois, but they were more than welcome to it.

He sat back down briefly, finished writing his signature, folded the letter, and sealed the envelope, the red wax recreation of the seal of the old Virginia State flag on it. Next to it was a letter from the Queen of France, the seal bearing the fasces symbol with the old fleur de-lys in a circle replacing stars around it printed on the front. Then, he ruminated once again, lost in thought. Monarchies had sprung up like grass after a spring rainfall in the years following the Change all over the globe. In a lot of places, it hadn’t surprised him, Europe for instance it felt more like returning to old roots. It didn’t surprise him in the least to hear of the English monarchy surviving, or the Spanish. They’d both had long traditions of it, and that didn’t bother him much. In those two cases at least, the crown did have a lot of power, but Parliament could still overrule or shut them down when necessary, plus there was still at least some form of elected representation. What had surprised him was France, considering how long it had been a republic. The story of how it got there was predictably ugly.

The story he’d heard from a friend of his who’d gotten out a few years back, right after the Change a merry band of far right lunatics led by a notorious extremist and his equally unpleasant daughter, Charles didn’t want to give his memory legitimacy by calling him a politician even though that was technically correct, had carved out a state in the interior down south for themselves, to the dismay of those finding themselves under their ‘benevolent’ leadership. ‘Immigrants and undesirables,’ meaning Arabs, Africans, Jews, Muslims, and pretty much anyone else old JM didn’t like were either massacred outright or forced into slave labor. The latter case had been his daughter’s doing, and she in some ways had virtually run the place even before her old man bit it.

She’d talked him out of just killing off all the groups that were for the chop, reasoning it would be far more productive to leave some alive to enslave instead. Though after Charles had studied French politics pre-Change and from what he knew of them, the man and his goons had already been a bunch of violent, racist thugs before the Change, and they only got worse afterwards. It hadn’t started off as monarchy officially at first, originally it was rather uncreatively called the ‘French State.’ Then the old bastard had croaked rather unexpectedly a few years in, and his daughter had taken up the reins, with a frightening degree of success. Charles closed his eyes and remembered the bunch of Nazis he’d put down in CY3, and how easily that could have happened here, but they’d been stamped out with extreme prejudice, he’d made sure of that.

Unlike Daddy dearest, she lacked, or at least was able to keep them in check behind a veneer of pleasant appearance and charisma, some of his more violent instincts, being a somewhat more savvy political operator, cleaning house and adopting a more civilized image for the sake of appearance on the slowly rebuilding world stage. That woman operated on a sense of ruthless pragmatism and was more of a long-term thinker. In that sense she was honestly more dangerous, operating on a carrot/stick policy for initial expansion, and making examples of those who wouldn’t fall in line to encourage others. Having seen the wave of monarchies coming, she’d taken the opportunity to go the whole hog. The reborn Kingdom of France these days was a mixture of Louis XIV’s absolutism and Bonapartism, with a bit of fascism thrown in for flavor. In a departure from the old days, nobility and clergy alike were taxed, clearly not wanting to repeat the mistakes of the past.

Paris was fucked beyond belief, so they’d gone and set up shop in Clermont-Ferrand, which geographically situated as it was around the Massif Central, made a good bit of sense. It had been a big city, and had seen its fair share of die-off, but wasn’t near the shitstorm say, Paris or London had been. Most government business was still conducted in Clermont. Clermont was convenient because as far inland as it was, it was well out of reach of the Brits, Spanish, Swedes, Poles, or Hanseatic League. The expansionist agenda of the French made them quite a few enemies. Then again, who was an enemy and who was an ally tended to depend on a lot these days. Ah, realpolitik.

Charles knew that England was a pretty consistent enemy, so was the Hanseatic League, and Spain. The Umbrian League in Central Italy, along with Sicily and Venice, their hostility depended on the day, everybody in that part of the world had their own agendas. It was a regular viper's nest over there, and Charles knew that as much as he wished otherwise, Virginia would end up entangled, at least by proxy via Canada. Poland had its own problems, and Greece duked it out with Venice once again. Eastern Europe was a free-for-all, the Carpathian Federation, Poland and Bulgaria being the top players there.

Nowadays, France had pretty much all its pre-Change territory, save for the French Alps, now part of the Alpine Confederation, who were friendly to the new regime for now anyway. There was also Normandy, which they hadn’t quite forgiven the British for getting to first and Corsica, which was part of the Mediterranean Confederation. Besides that, they were getting big eyes for their old colonies. Of course, the Sultanate of Tunis and Kingdom of Morocco, who had miraculously pulled through the Change partially, were sweating bullets these days. Both countries, at last report, were thoroughly militarized, and France was likewise. Charles and his diplomats, along with the British, and Spanish, had made it clear at that summit about five years back to the French that they were to keep their hands off the Caribbean and the East Coast, to say nothing of unclaimed land within Iberia and former Germany. The sad thing was, in practical terms, if the French wanted to seize land bad enough, they could probably do it. Nonetheless, a show of diplomatic backbone had been a good thing. Charles had backed up the the Tunisian and Moroccan envoys when they had said the same for their own sovereignty. He didn’t need to work out anything with Winchester there, having made separate agreements prior. Her Majesty, or more aptly Her Travesty, had given her word not to get involved, but Charles didn’t buy it for a second, ad judging from the expressions he'd seen, neither did anyone else. He knew the word of a tyrant or a fascist was worth less than the paper it was printed on. Anyone who took that woman at her word was, to put it lightly, gullible. He'd also borne witness to a meeting between her and King William, and that had been the stuff of legends.

As far as Africans, Muslims and Arabs went, excluding slave labor they were virtually non-existent in France, either having fled anywhere that would take them, such as Spain, Morocco, or Tunis, or been ‘deported’, which meant sent out in leaky boats to drown in the Mediterranean. For Jews, it was a return to second-class citizenship, which Charles hated to admit, was back to basics historically for them. To his credit, Pope Benedict XVI, based in Badia since Rome was a ruin these days, had spoken out frequently against these atrocities, on at least one occasion, calling it ‘an affront to the dignity of Christianity and all humankind’. The failed attempt on his life a week later was no coincidence, Charles thought darkly. The Pope had died a couple years prior, sadly, but his successor Alexander IX so far had reiterated the same rhetoric, and Charles, a Catholic himself, marveled how the Church had managed to survive as an institution, adding the actual apocalypse to the list of things they'd weathered. He wondered how long before France would attempt Avignon 2.0, or a repeat of Antipope Leo XIV. Regarding the situation with Britain, relations between the newly revamped Kingdom of France and Greater Britain were decidedly unfriendly.

_Though that’s nothing new_ , Charles thought with a grim chuckle. If anything, it was a return to historical normality. Now that the war in Northern Africa was over and lacking any common enemy to fight, they would no doubt be at each other’s throats in a year or two, maybe less. France had also expanded into chunks of what used to be Germany, to the displeasure of the new neighbors, and all of the former Netherlands and Luxembourg, racking up an alarming body count even by today’s standards and committing atrocities Charles didn’t dare to repeat even to himself. Reports trickling in had made even him vomit at least once. He’d gained the full picture of that whole mess back during his tour of Western Europe, a diplomatic tour of sorts, reestablishing ties with various governments. _Further proof you can’t take a fascist at their word on any goddamn thing._

Little wonder the new Queen was now being called the female Norman Arminger, a certain Austrian corporal having been supplanted when it came to comparisons of monstrous tyranny and having overshadowed her late father. He’d gone to Europe once on a state visit 10 years ago to formally establish diplomatic ties and had met this woman who much of the continent was scared shitless of in person. He’d been given the chills. Charles was a people person and was good at reading them. She was in surprisingly good shape for a woman her age surviving the Change and looked it. Plus, he had heard her speaking, and he had to admit she had a fair bit of talent there. Which made him even more nervous. Charles dreaded returning 5 years later for that other summit. She'd almost had _him_ leaning her way at one point. The danger with people like that was letting them talk.

One wouldn’t have expected this late 40s woman, with her deceptive smile and short blonde hair, to be one of the most tyrannical and successful despots in the new world. But looks could be deceiving. Charles could see beneath the façade, and saw her for what she was, a murderous, power-hungry tyrant and opportunist who had finally got what she wanted. And she’d locked down the domestic political scene scarily well, rendering any possibility of a coup unlikely at best. She had no sons but did have a couple of daughters by the names of Marie-Thérèse and Marguerite who were cut from the same cloth as Mom, plus she had a niece who was no better to boot. _So, no salic law this time around, I imagine. Being able to make the rules is a real asset_. Despite her non-threatening appearance, voice and how welcoming she was to the Virginians, she quite terrified him, to the extent that he was happy to leave France. _I pity the poor bastard who had to marry her, I really do._

The idea of leaving someone like that in power nauseated Charles, but the French army and navy were as good as any these days, an actual full-time fighting force with an actual military bureaucracy, able to match anyone in Europe. To say nothing of the fact that their respective countries were on separate sides of the Atlantic. Thankfully in Europe proper, you also had the resurgent Sweden and neo-Hanseatic League based in northern Germany, along with Spain, friendly to Britain, to keep France in check. Sicily, Venice, the Mediterranean Leageue and the Umbrians were officially neutral, squabbling with each other for a whole boatload of reasons. But then again, they often swung between supporting the regime in France and not. There was also Poland, but they were more concerned with the dealings in the east anyway. Though they were no joke, being one of the other major powers in the East, including the Carpathians and Bulgarians.

_At least there’s an ocean between them and us_. India had undergone a similar thing as Oregon. Hell, given the wars going on, still was. Anyone who called himself ‘The Purifier’ had to be bad news. Charles felt like they’d gotten off easy here by comparison. Whether it was Emirs, Caliphs, Rajas, Kings, Queens, Emperors or Bossmen, the world had basically gone back to the Middle Ages. So yes, Charles supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that many people would resort to some form of monarchy, but it had been especially surprising, and more than a little disheartening to see that same sort of thing cropping up across the old North American continent. Especially those feudal weirdos in Oregon and the Celtic wannabes, but at least the latter were a bit more egalitarian. Which was more than you could say for the various Midwestern ‘Bossmandoms’ as they were calling them now where you almost needed permission to take a piss on your own land, plus the hardline rigid class-based structures that had taken root there. Richland at least was a fair bit more relaxed and less formal regarding their set-up. He’d been there once or twice himself, and they and Virginia had been exchanging envoys of late. _Nice folks_ , Charles thought.

The Dominions of Drumheller, Moose Jaw, and Minnedosa were legitimate democracies in their own right; to varying degrees, but they were a long way off, and the surviving Canadians in the Maritimes had joined back up with the new British Empire. At least his government had managed to cut a deal with King William V and Parliament in Winchester to keep them from colonizing most of the old East Coast, leaving that to them and the survivors up in Maine. It’d take a long fucking time, decades, if not centuries, but at least it avoided a future conflict for now and gave room to plan for the future. These days, the old state and now national motto felt more relevant than ever.

Those places out in the Midwest called themselves republics but…. Charles felt bile well up in the pit of his stomach. They weren’t even worth the words they were printed on. The word Republic had become incredibly devalued nowadays, thanks to that collection of de facto monarchial dictatorships. “Thus always to tyrants,” Charles whispered. If Virginia had had them for neighbors, they’d be doing their damnedest to tear those feudal tyrannies down piece by piece right now. There were also these newfangled Vikings that had taken root in old Maine, ‘Norrheim’ the loose confederation of tribes was called. Charles, again, thought they were just crazy, and hopefully harmless. Nonetheless, the Navy was on standby in case they decided to emulate the actual Vikings, though the residents hadn’t come this far south yet in large numbers. He’d heard reports from fishermen, salvagers and sailors having run into Norrheimer salvage crews too, though it had never come to violence. _I might have to arrange to send an envoy up there, just in case._ It was probably good to start forging ties with all the neighbors, especially as the world was starting to connect again. Richland was the least bad of the bunch, and the one Virginia had most been trying to establish formal diplomatic ties with.

. All in all, Virginia was the exception to the rule, especially having undergone an impromptu Constitutional Convention in year 7 to get the business of a working government set up. It had basically been based on the old Declaration of Rights, taken a bit more up to date. Within two years, it was done. The next year, elections were held, and Charles unsurprisingly won a five-year term by a resounding majority vote. His Federalists had won both chambers by a 5 seat margin in the Senate, and 17 in the House of Delegates. Right now, of course, the legislature was divided currently between the two, the Old Dominion Party holding the House, and the Federalists the Senate. There were also the old Democrats and Republicans still around, but were minor parties, controlling a handful of seats each, which still proved significant when it came to close votes on important legislation.

His mind now turned to these visitors from out West Charles was hearing so much about. All of them were young, the oldest only a year or two older than his eldest. Having met this little group once already, he could make a good judgement call. None of them were bad kids per se, they all seemed like reasonably moral human beings. _Only problem is, they’re so fucking weird. I mean, Celtic wannabes, crazed Tolkien fans who take his stories for fact, Neo-Normans? Come on! At least two of those were based on real life cultures, the so-called Dunedain have got to be the craziest of the bunch._ The only exceptions to that were the former salvager Ingolf Vogeler and young Fred Thurston, along with the priest Father Ignatius, whom Charles had been chatting up considerably. It had been quite refreshing talking to some relatively normal people, and a Catholic in particular. Not that Charles had anything against other religions, he just found it easier to talk on such matters with a co-religionist. Ok, so Mathilda Arminger was a Catholic too, but he hadn't had much chance to speak with her yet.

_Vogeler from the sound of it has been around a lot. Seems decent enough. And Thurston’s got a good head on his shoulders._ And Charles had to admit, he did approve of Fred a great deal. And not just because he seemed the most familiar out of all of them to him. In that green dress uniform and beret, he could have easily passed for a member of Virginia’s armed forces. Sans the paganism, he reminded Charles of his own son Alexander. Having spoken with him the other night, it looked like Idaho along with a chunk of Washington State under Fred’s old man had become something similar to what Charles had pulled, except basing their army on the Roman legions, which he kind of wished he’d gone for. That, and Old Man Thurston hadn’t been quite so quick to restore democracy, which had had severe consequences. Not least of which was Fred’s older brother had staged a sort of coup, offing their old man and trying to frame Fred for it, which is why he was here, on the run.

The door opened, and Bill Meyer, a member of the Secret Service detail, stood in the doorway. Meyer was a big, beefy man, 6’1”, every ounce muscle with a blonde crew cut. “Sir? Those, uh, visitors you asked for are waiting outside.” Charles could hear the man trying to suppress a snicker.

“Send them in, Bill.”

With that, a young man and woman entered the room. Both were taller than him by at least a couple inches, and for the sake of formality, and both were clad in jeans and the button-downed long-sleeved shirts that were so common here, though nothing matched pre-Change material. The man was easily 6 feet, maybe an inch or two taller, with rather long reddish hair, broad shoulders, and an intensity in his blue-green-grey eyes that made Charles briefly flinch. The woman was a rangy five-nine, leanly built with brown hair tied in a bun. Both would stand out in a crowd despite their conventional garb. The young man particularly had won over a lot of people just by talking, though Charles felt a little uncomfortable with that and instinctively had some misgivings about him despite the lack of hostile intent.

The pair inclined their heads and bowed, to which Charles cocked an eyebrow. “Your Majesty,” the young woman intoned.

Charles held up his hands, expression neutral. “We don’t do that here. It’s Mr. President, or if you like, sir, or just call me Charles. I’m not that concerned with formality here. Now, please sit down.” _We’re clearly separated by cultural differences. 24 years and we’re already seeing what, cultural drift? Good God._

The duo did just that, though even while sitting they were still taller than Charles, and a small part of him thought conquered felt slightly uncomfortable by that.

. “Mr. Rudi Mackenzie and Princess Mathilda Arminger, I presume?”

Mathilda chose that moment to correct him on his addressing of them. “His name is actually Artos the First, High King of Montival.”

Charles, suppressing a snicker of his own, cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? Have you been officially instated as such yet by your government?” When the pair shook their heads, he went on. “Then, in that case, I shall refer to you by your given names, if you don't mind, as opposed to something you cooked up on your own." _Montival, what a stupid name._ Charles had also heard of the way that the so-called High Kingdom was supposed to theoretically function. Autonomy for all its respective members, but nominal loyalty to the High King/Queen. Which would leave the monarch in question effectively powerless if the constituent countries decided to assert themselves, with little option to do anything about it. _It’ll never work, just like the Holy Roman Empire was a political mess, and that was so dysfunctional it wasn't even funny. Not to mention it gave cartographers everywhere nightmares. Without some charismatic leader holding “Montival” together, it’ll fall apart in a generation or two, calling it now._

Charles reached into a drawer and pulled three shot glasses out of his desk along with a bottle of home-made whiskey, that he’d made himself at his family brewery and saved for visitors. Charles didn't make any money off of it nor worked there, divestment and all that. After he was out of office, he would make that his next career choice. Was more relaxing than politics. “Would anyone care for a drink? Made this myself, pretty good stuff, a bit strong, though.”

He cracked a grin seeing the response. Rudi’s eyes lit up with curiosity and Mathilda nodded, eying the bottle with a hint of skepticism. Rudi clapped his hands together. “That would be quite good, my thanks. After months without, it’d be nice to have a drink again.” Mathilda followed suit and took the glass as Charles poured out enough for a shot each. He took up his and held it up. “Here’s to more peaceful times, and prosperity to follow.”

Now there was something they could agree on. “Here, here.” Mathilda chimed up, and they all downed their shots. Charles felt the fire trickling down his throat and watched in amusement as Rudi and Mathilda spluttered a bit after drinking down theirs. “Hey, I warned ya,” Charles replied with a chuckle. Then again, he’d had years to grow accustomed to his own brew.

Rudi at least seemed to like it. “That is quite good, though nothing matches the breweries at Sutterdown.”

Charles wanted to ask more, beer seemed like it could be a good common subject for them to discuss, but he had to press on to business. “I imagine, but there’ll be time for small talk later. Now, onto the events back out in the Midwest.”

Something strange had gone on that night in Des Moines, he figured that. Their envoy had sent back a letter indicating that a bunch of whackjobs called the Church Universal and Triumphant had gone ax-crazy and started trying to kill everyone in reach, mainly the Mackenzie boy and his group. They hadn’t succeeded there, obviously, but had managed to whack Bossman Anthony Heasleroad, head of the State Police Edgar Denton too, along with a bunch of Denton’s men and almost killed Heasleroad’s family. Not to mention somehow turned some of the Bossman’s bodyguards against him. And even after the so called ‘Fellowship’ by the Dunedain whackos, had left Iowa, the Cutters had pursued them all the way to fucking Nantucket. _Why the hell did they want him dead so badly_? Charles thought, then retracted that.

Some questions were better left unsaid, and based on what he’d seen of Nantucket, plus that god-damned sword of Mackenzie’s, he decided he was happier not knowing. Would never have believed it if he hadn’t seen for himself. A shiver ran down his spine, there was something at work there. _And it creeps me the hell out, which is one reason he’s under orders to keep that damned thing under wraps while he’s here, aside from general security concerns like the rest_. There was something off regarding Rudi Mackenzie, maybe it wasn’t malevolent, but Charles wanted as little to do with it as he could.

Regarding Iowa, Charles fumed with frustration. All the efforts that he, his intelligence networks and the army put into attempting to help internal elements of Iowan government in deposing the Heasleroad regime, five years of work, undone in the space of a single night by religious fanatics and Renaissance Faire rejects. Granted, their presence along the Mississippi and settlements in the interior were fragile enough they couldn’t afford to antagonize Iowa openly, so they had been forced to take a more subtle approach. Hell, the failed coup had given the government a major boost and probably bought a generation or two in power. _I shouldn’t be so angry with these young people, they were brought up like this. They don’t know any better. It’s their parents and grandparents I should be furious with, but here I am, about to take it out on their descendants._

“You and your band of misfits really managed to screw the pooch in Iowa. Quite a few people here are rather riled up at the moment.” By which Charles meant, from what jumbled reports he’d gotten, there’d been at least one internal coup in Iowa’s leadership by a bunch of extremist religious lunatics who from what Commonwealth Intelligence reported, were basically the Taliban with the army structure and effectiveness of the Mongols. They were a cult, who were a joke before the Change but got real dangerous real quick afterwards. Believed that technology had angered God and the ‘Ascended Masters’, and the Change had been the result. A shiver went down his spine as the reports he was getting out of there was one horror story after the next. Charles had never seen them in action, thankfully, but he’d heard enough stories from enough sources that there was something _wrong_ about them, and it WAS sure as hell malevolent, and wanted even less to do with that. _I don’t want to know. I sleep good at night not knowing, I’m happy not knowing._ Charles was thankful his country didn’t have them for neighbors. “Would you mind telling me just what the hell happened over there? I do know those CUT freaks tried to kill you for whatever reason.”

At this, Rudi’s eyes lit up and he hastened to explain. “They had been following us from as far as Boise, what the old world called Idaho. They attacked us while we were guests of the Bossman, tried to kill us, used their sorceries to turn the Bossman’s sworn men against him, and did in fact kill Anthony Heasleroad himself, the last of which could have caused Iowa to collapse into civil war. We, well, Mathilda here did most of the effort, managed to secure the lawful succession of Bossman Heasleroad’s heir and…not too much violence, along with uniting the Midwest against the Church Universal and Triumphant.” Charles could see sincerity in Rudi’s eyes, he clearly thought what they’d done was right. Then the princess chimed in. “Yes, and now they have to fight a two-front war. We also prevented a power vacuum and helped Idaho to modernize a bit.”

Charles waved that aside. “Yes, I heard about that. And how you infected Iowa with your fancy, dress up feudal bullshit and your politicking screwed over a lot of people in the long run in the process. He privately cringed, thinking how foolish their clothing choice was. That stuff belonged in the past. _Those ‘cotehardies’ and hose and doublets look so goddamned stupid, and if you dressed up like that here, you’d be laughed at. Plus, the tournaments are such a waste of money and resources. The fact that they’re are winning so many people over on medievalism and the terminology so easily, that worries me and just proves my point._ I will concede getting a united front against those maniacs in Montana was good, I grant, they need to be nipped in the bud, but I will thank you not to introduce those ‘modern’ sensibilities here.”

“But Your Ma- Mr. President,” he hastily corrected, “it already was effectively a kingdom over there already. We just helped them modernize and adopt the official, less backward terminology.” Charles massaged his forehead and sighed, closing his eyes, before slugging another shot of whiskey. Then he spoke again, his tone world weary. “Well, for once I’ve got to concede the point, Mr. Mackenzie. Sadly enough, it was, and much like his unlamented old man, Anthony Heasleroad was a miserable son of a bitch of the highest order, and frankly the world’s better off without one less entitled power-hungry puke in it. But frankly, what are the guarantees Thomas II isn’t going to turn out just like Daddy? Not many, I’d imagine. We, it seems, have completely different perspectives on what constitutes backwards.”

Mathilda frowned slightly, then replied, clearly unused to this sort of perspective. “With his mother as regent, and men like Abel Heusink to guide him, he most likely will turn out vastly better. It is like I said, Mr. President, we ensured the continuity of the Iowan rulers’ line and preserved the stability of Iowa under the Heasleroads. When we were there, it struck me as a very fine place.”

He snorted. They were seeing what the higher ups had wanted them to see. A classic move of every dictatorship ever. “Yeah, and from what our sources in Des Moines tell me, there’s an increasingly rigid caste system and the so-called ‘vakis’ are worked to the bone, forced to labor in factories or on farms 12-14 hours a day, and are overall treated one or two steps above slaves. Not to mention how you can spend _six months_ in a mine doing hard labor for trivial offenses and the laws only get worse from there. I know because I’ve got sources in Iowa. You were shown what they wanted you to see. Tell me, when you were in Des Moines, did you _ever_ once think of what those people were going through?” He drummed his fingers on the desk, waiting for a response, and he saw a certain measure of surprise and guilt appear on Mathilda’s face, seemingly unable to muster up a reply. _At least she has enough of a conscience to feel shame_ , Charles thought with satisfaction. “But wait, why am I asking? You’re an aristocrat, a princess. It’s only natural that you didn’t think about it. You grew up in the lap of luxury and were raised to be a monarch of a feudal state. Obviously, the interests of the ‘lower classes’ are worth jack and shit to, maybe not you, but most of you over in Portland. You probably didn’t think about that at first, and that’s due to your upbringing. ”

At this, Mathilda and Rudi, yes that was his name, piped up. Charles had always had trouble with names, even with freshly introduced people. “We did, as you know, ensure Abel Heusink and many of his faction obtained positions of high influence in a power sharing arrangement,” the princess said. The redheaded Scots wannabe nodded in agreement. “Aye, and since Heusink was made chancellor, he also pressed the need for reforms, expressing the importance of having the commons on their side, not just following orders. The alternative would have been civil war.”

At this, Charles felt a sense of relief. Though he couldn’t help but wonder if they were lying, despite detecting sincerity. Ok, so it hadn’t been a total loss, at least some good had come out of that debacle. _In the interests of avoiding an anarchic bloodbath, I can see why they did what they did. But it still sucks, dammit._ Still, he wanted more answers. “And did he mention he could guarantee those reforms? Did he give any details as to what? And even if he does force reform through, what’s to stop the next Chancellor or ‘Bossman’ Tommy when he gets old enough from simply undoing that with the stroke of a pen? Maybe you did mean well, but the road to hell is paved with good intentions. No matter how that boy is raised, placing all that power without checks and balances in the hands of one person because of who their father was, hoping they’ll turn out decent is an enormous gamble.” Mathilda opened her mouth to respond, but Charles raised a hand to indicate silence, and continued.

“And if you are going to start extolling the virtues of feudalism and near-absolute monarchy as no doubt you’ve heard from some other people, I’ve got one word in reply to that. Bullshit.” Charles turned his eyes on Mathilda. “Now, I’m a Catholic as much as you are, but God gave us free will for a reason, and that reason is not to mindlessly fall in line under whatever up-jumped strongman or two-bit thug that declared himself ‘Grand Exalted Poobah of the Eastern Shore’ or what have you. I trust you’ve already done research into our system of government here.”

Mathilda nodded, seemingly confused. “It does seem like a very inefficient system. I’ve been to Corvallis, and all they do is bicker.”

Charles merely shrugged. “Still better than the divine right of kings, especially with a system where nobility have carte blanche to do whatever they want to ‘peasants’ consequence-free.” he added with a pointed stare.

Rudi at last spoke again, and Charles could see curiosity in his eyes. “I have a question, I mean it in all sincere curiosity. and I hope you will not take offense, Mr. President. But why did you go out of your way to try to preserve so much of the old world, even when it seemed impractical to do so?”

“Because unlike some, I and my counterparts down South did NOT instantly forget 2 centuries of democratic republican tradition. People did not just meekly fall in line and become peasants. I spent years stamping out those kinds of warlords, petty tyrants and feudal dictatorships on this side of the continent. My mission was and is to preserve the best of the old traditions of the United States.”

Now came the main subject of argument, one that really got him bothered. “And what is it you and your friends were telling my boy the other night?” Charles took a deep breath, steadying himself in preparation for one of what Maggie called his ‘long- winded rants.’ “Yes, Mr. Mackenzie, Alex told me everything. How those ‘Dunedain’ relations of yours and your fiancé here were not so subtly suggesting he was my ‘lawful heir and successor’ and that he was the best fit to run for President just because he was my son, and that like it or not, he was a Crown Prince. I’m gonna tell you something, that’s a load of crap. Now, I can’t tell you how to run your system of government where you’re from, it’s not your fault you were raised into those ideas, that’s your prerogative and I won’t begrudge you that. But let me tell you something, we are not a monarchy here, no matter what you try to do to make it that way, and I know you think you’re not doing anything wrong, but you are. Thankfully, Alex didn’t buy into that, and it’s another eight years before he’s old enough to run for high office anyway. There are, however, plenty of people who still think I should have named myself King, and to be perfectly honest that hero worship bothers me a great deal. _Some people thought George Washington should have too but thank Christ he didn’t either._ Now maybe numerically they’re not enough to win an election, but a sizable minority nonetheless. This republic is still young, and people are still getting used to democracy, and while thankfully, I’ve managed to ensure many of those are difficult to put into practice, there are still plenty of ways it could come crumbling down and become just like those banana republics in the Midwest. Which is why I’m saying this now and hitting you with what we call a gag order. While you’re in the Commonwealth, you will Cease. And. Desist. with any of that talk. And stop filling people’s heads with that pseudo-medieval crap. _Especially_ my family. Am I in any way unclear about that?” He ended with a firm stare and a cold tone that advised them not to push it any further.

Rudi and Mathilda gave nods with identically neutral facial expressions. “Yes, sir,” Rudi said. Charles was surprised at how unsurprised and unoffended these two were, having no doubt received a briefing when they arrived. Charles gave a slight smile. “Good, thank you for being reasonable.”

He folded his hands before his face and continued, his tone a bit more light and pleasant now that he’d gotten his message across. “Now, regarding your return trip west. You and your party will have full use of the railroads when and wherever possible, with assistance from the Army if you so need it. In addition, any supplies you critically need will be furnished for you as well, no strings attached. Provide a list, and it will be taken care of.” The sooner he and the Commonwealth got these people off their hands, the better.

Rudi and Mathilda seemed delighted, and Charles got a distinct air of relief from these two. _Don’t agree with their system at all, but that doesn’t mean I wish anything bad to them_. “Thank you, very much, Mr. President.”

Charles waved it aside and chuckled lightly. “Think nothing of it. And in the meantime, you and your friends are free to explore as you please, check out the rest of the city. And there are some great restaurants a few streets over I’d highly recommend.”

Before he could say more, the door burst open, and there stood Amelia Patterson, his Chief of Staff, holding a packet of documents in her hand. Mid-fifties, raven black hair with only a grey streak betraying her age, of his generation and only a bit older than him at the Change. Charles at once could tell something was amiss because she looked uncharacteristically shaken. A chill ran down his spine. _Oh shit, something’s happened, something big. Nothing less could make her look this freaked. Amelia’s one of the toughest people I know. What the hell could have her rattled this badly?_ He turned to Rudi and Mathilda. “Sorry to cut this short, we’ll speak later, in the meantime, you’ll have to excuse us.”

“Yes, Mr. President.” The duo got out of their seats, nodded in respect, and left, Amelia closing the door behind her. Charles leaned forward slightly and frowned as she approached. “What’s going on, Amelia? What’s happened? In all the years you’ve been in this Administration, I’ve never seen you like this.”

She swallowed nervously and dropped the packet on his desk. “Mr. President, it’s news from out west, some of our northern seed colonies. They’ve been reporting, and bear in mind this news is at least two months old, increased activity by savages and Eaters, at least a few raids, but the worst of it, well, you better read it for yourself, sir.”

Charles opened the packet, and as he began to read, his face blanched. Fort Erie, outside of the old city. Population, 900. Attacked by around twice their number in cannibal tribesmen and savages, controlled by some freak in red robes, and according to witnesses had bona-fide CUT troops among them. They’d repelled the assault but had held hard. Half their people were dead, either torn to shreds and eaten, or some who’d been captured and either crucified or just plain hanged, incidents of rape and torture among them.

Then there was Outpost Mercer, pop. 200, a new colony. That hadn’t held, burned to the ground with nary a building left standing and not one survivor aside from a courier sent out early. According to his account, it matched up similarly to Erie. Cutter cavalry had lead that one in force, from the sound of it. It had been more of a raid to loot supplies for themselves, based on the reports reinforcements from Fort Defiant had sent back, detailing what was missing and such. Of course, that hadn’t stopped them from raping every woman in sight and doing worse to the ones in uniform. Not one person there had died a clean death. Signs written in blood had been found, starting with APOSTATES BE WARNED, and going downhill from there. And they’d painted their golden-rayed sun sigil on the partially intact church building. Much the same at Outpost 42, three attacks in all, and the Cutter party had been on a northward trajectory.

“Jesus Christ,” Charles whispered, looking gaunt suddenly. He’d seen a ton of ugly stuff over the past quarter century, but this, this wasn’t borne of desperation or ignorance, or savages who had grown apart from civilization for years and simply didn’t know anything else. This was intelligently done, calculated cruelty of the first degree. “Well, they were certainly trying to send a message. And those Eaters just found themselves way up on our priority list, especially in Baltimore and Washington. Gonna need to call up National Guard for that op. ” His horror gave way to an anger, burning hot in his gut. The Eaters had proven they were still a bigger threat than most people cared to appreciate and now ignoring them wasn’t an option anymore, they’d need to be rooted out. And as for the CUT…. _They’re gonna pay. God as my witness, Corwin is going to pay dearly for this._ The party responsible for the direct raid had been picked off piece by piece by Rudi and his band, many in Iowa, most in Maine, and the rest in Nantucket. Charles made a note to thank them for taking care of that little problem. But they wouldn’t have hit Virginian territory without orders from some of the higher ups.

Amelia nodded grimly and went on. “Congress just got a copy of the report, sir. And once they’ve read it, and once news of this has reached the general population, the mood is going to be ugly. As in, baying for war, ugly. I predict a vote to do so will be not quite unanimous, but a large majority.” She seemed worried, and rightly so. One of her sons and a younger sister were in the Army. Charles didn’t envy her that at all. His kids had done their time already.

Amelia's words on Congress had occurred to Charles, but the news hit him like a punch in the gut, he grunted in acknowledgement. He’d been trying to avoid this for quite some time, and now it seemed like there was no way to avoid it. “For sure. There’s going to be the trick of justifying a war with a bunch of religious fanatics hundreds of miles away, but these reports will certainly help there. But we’ve got one problem, a big one. Distance and logistics. I mean, we’ve done a lot on the railroads over the years, but the mountains are going to be an issue. We can march troops through the mountains then send them by river across the Ohio, to the Mississippi from there. We’ll also need to get in contact with Kirksville and Iowa, let them know the situation here and ask permission to send troops through their territory. They don’t like us much by any stretch, but they hate the CUT a hell of a lot more just now. A common enemy is a powerful thing, and maybe we can use this to our advantage in the long run.” This could serve to head off any potential conflict with big ol’ Iowa for the foreseeable future, and be one less thing for the Commonwealth to worry about.

Amelia nodded. “The Joint Chiefs are aware and working on a strategy.” Charles smiled grimly. “Good, and we'll need to arrange to send reinforcements and supplies to Fort Erie by rail ASAP. They’re sure as shit gonna need it. Outpost Mercer, what’s left of it, that’ll have to wait.”

“Yes, sir.” Amelia nodded curtly, then turned on her heel, walking out and shutting the door quietly behind her.

There had been considerable paperwork still on his desk, but none of that mattered at the moment _._ Charles looked outside his window, seeing the people going about their business, ignorant to the events that had transpired weeks before, and what was coming now, before going back to his desk. _So, it’s gonna be war._ Charles slugged the rest of the whiskey, then sighed and buried his face in his hands. _I’m getting too old for this_.


End file.
